Seven Days and Seven Nights
by alatariel-gildaen
Summary: Set after the season 6 finale. Carol and Daryl both find themselves recuperating at Kingdom. The weeks after Negan's attack bring them closer than ever. WARNING: Major character death.
1. Seven Days

**A/N -** Hey! So this is my very first foray into Caryl fanfic, so please be nice!

This will be a two parter: part 1 (Seven Days) from Daryl's perspective, and part 2 (Seven Nights) from Carol's.

This takes place after the season 6 finale, so... yeah, heed the warning for a major character death. I hope I'm wrong. I really do.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, thank you all for your never ending patience as I begin yet another WIP, and please do hit that review button. Cheers all!

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 _Day 1_

A fluorescent strip light hung over head, burning his eyes with its bright glare, but even with the discomfort of staring at something so dazzlingly intense, Daryl could still make out the bodies of several flies that had crawled inside the casing and not found a way out. It was their tomb. This place would be his too.

Several unknown people were crowded around him, but he was barely able to keep his eyes open. How long had it been since that bullet had pierced him? How long did it take to die?

A male voice, oddly familiar although he could not quite place who it belonged to, said, "Daryl?"

The pain in his shoulder reached an unbearable peak, and everything turned to blackness.

 _Day 2_

He slowly opened his eyes, groaning and closing them again in protest against the bright sunlight that blinded him. There was a merciless throbbing in his shoulder, but for why, he couldn't remember.

He rolled onto his side, away from the mysterious pain. Opening his eyes once more, he was struck by a terrifying realisation. Wherever he was, this was not Alexandria. In an instant everything came flooding back to him. That fucking asshole—Dwight— shooting him at point blank range. Being locked up. Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn doing everything they could to stop the bleeding. For a moment his heart seemed to stop beating as the world came crashing down around him. _Glenn_ … He could see as clear as day that maniac, Negan, parading in front of them all, playing his little game to choose which one of them would die. And he had finally come to rest in front of Glenn. Daryl could remember Maggie's dreadful, blood-curdling scream, together with the first sickening crunch from Negan's bat. And then nothing else. Waking up here… wherever 'here' was….

There wasn't much to see in the small room he found himself in. What looked like an old gym mat had been serving him as a bed, while a couple of plastic chairs sat in one corner. A small wooden writing desk was placed next to his makeshift bed, and a small window, through which the dazzling sunlight was streaming, was cracked and barred.

He wasn't at home. He knew that much. There could only be one explanation. He must have been taken back to Negan's camp. He had to get out, immediately, before they knew that he was awake.

Steeling himself with several deep breaths, he forced himself up off the ground and to his feet. A rush of blood to his head coupled with a severe stabbing pain in his shoulder, and his legs gave way underneath him. The resultant crash into the writing desk was enough to alert the whole compound, and he cursed silently as he tried to clamber his way back to standing.

Outside in the hallway, he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. He was in no state to fight anyone by hand—especially unarmed—but he'd be damned if he was just going to stand there and not at least try to take some of them down with him.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the door opened, and he got the first swing in straight away, knocking a burly guy with neatly trimmed grey hair onto his ass. He drew back again as two more men entered the room; these two were both lanky and wiry, barely older than about 20. The first fell from a hook to the jaw, the second doubled up after a swift kick to the stomach.

"Daryl, stop this!" said a woman's voice, and he looked up to see a blond woman with glasses standing before him. For a split second he thought it was Denise, and he paused in his attack, but the memory of her death came back to him as well. With a guttural growl, he launched himself at her. "Someone restrain him!" she cried, as a pair of strong arms caught him from behind and pinned his arms to his side. "Careful," she said, raising a syringe. "We don't want that wound to open up again."

It briefly occurred to him as the needle pricked the crook of his arm that there was no animosity in her tone. Moments later, sleep took him once more.

 _Day 3_

It was a dull, overcast day when he next awoke, and his head was swimming. The pain in his shoulder seemed muted somehow; more like the memory of an injury, or perhaps the promise of a recovery.

He slowly blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and tried to shake his drug-addled body awake, when he became aware of another presence in the room. Merle was squatting beside him on the end of his gym-mat bed, a gaping bullet wound in his stomach.

Daryl stared at the injury, wondering if he should bother telling Merle about it. A shot like that would kill him if he didn't get it seen to by a doctor, after all… But, Daryl reasoned, it was a big enough injury that Merle would surely have already noticed it himself. He didn't want to piss his older brother off by stating the obvious.

"What do you want?" mumbled Daryl, tearing his eyes away from the bloody mass at his brother's stomach, and looking him defiantly in the face instead.

"Just checkin' in on my baby brother," smirked Merle, leaning over and mockingly patting him on his wounded shoulder. Strangely, the added pressure didn't seem to affect him at all. "Makin' sure you're doin' as shit as ever."

Daryl shrugged his brother away, and felt a vague stab of annoyance at the trail of blood that Merle left on the bed. Fucking dick. He'd probably make Daryl clean it up, as well.

"Get lost."

"Lost? Well, now, it seems to me that I aint the one that's lost. That falls on you, brother."

"I aint lost."

"No? Well aint that funny, 'cause it sure as shit looks that way to me. You alone. You got no one. All a them friends a yours left you to these pricks. I'd place damn good money that you gonna end up like him next."

"What're you talkin' about?" Daryl asked.

Merle nodded over his shoulder and shifted to one side, giving Daryl a clear view of the waking nightmare that was sat in one of the plastic chairs. Glenn was watching him, his face covered in blood. The top of his skull was smashed in, gore falling from the exposed hole.

"You did this to me," he spat, standing suddenly and taking a step closer. A gentle _drip_ sounded as blood ran from the terrible wound, down his arms, and fell from his finger tips to pool on the floor around his feet.

"No…"

"Yeah you did. We told you to go back. We needed a plan. You kept going. We were caught because of you."

"I didn't—"

"I'll tell what you didn't do. You didn't think. You were so desperate for revenge that you run out after these psychos without any idea of what you were getting into. What you were getting _us_ into. And look where it's landed us."

The burden of guilt weighed heavily on his chest, a dreadful leaden pressure that threatened to suffocate him. "It's not my fault," he eventually choked out. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault?" repeated Glenn. "You're sorry? Sure, because you being sorry is exactly what's going to solve _this_ , isn't it?" He pointed savagely at the terrible and gory wound. "Saying 'sorry' won't mean that my kid grows up with both a mom and a dad. You should have run away with your brother and not come back. We were better off without you."

It was a huge blow to his stomach, but Glenn was right. None of them needed him. Not like he needed them. Not like he needed one of them in particular…

As though he could hear Daryl's deepest insecurities, Glenn started to laugh; it was a vicious, humorless sound, something he had never heard coming from the kid before. "You need to stop deluding yourself. You think a woman like her is ever going to want someone like you? She'll fall for someone _nice_ , someone _normal_ , someone at Alexandria who actually deserves her. Tobin's been paying her a lot of attention lately. Maybe him?"

A large chunk of broken bone and brain slid onto the floor, and Daryl couldn't help but stare at it, as he realised that what Glenn was saying was right. She deserved someone whole. She deserved someone who could give her a happy, ordinary life. That person wasn't him, no matter how much it hurt to admit it.

But the more he stared at the dreadful gore, the more something about the whole conversation seemed wrong to him, but it was impossible to work out precisely what. His head was foggy and his limbs heavy, but with a creeping horror it dawned on him that he was still unarmed. Merle and Glenn had both suffered grave injuries; they'd surely die without medical attention, and he had nothing to stop them turning…

But then again… Glenn's head was already smashed in. This in itself was strange. How was he walking around if his head was smashed in?

"You aint real," he said with a huge sigh of relief, as the realisation that this was some drug-induced hallucination finally hit him, and he turned away and rested his head back down on his pillow.

Merle was still perched on the bed, and now there was a knife wound in his brother's forehead as well. "I dunno, baby brother. He seems pretty real to me."

"You aint real," he repeated more forcefully, as he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the constant _drip drip_ of blood coming from his former friend lurking in the shadows.

 _Day 4_

Merle was gone. Glenn was gone. The blonde woman he had assumed to be Denise— a doctor by the name of Sarah— had checked in on him a couple of times. Told him he had been brought to a place called Kingdom to recuperate. That they were on his side. That Negan had taken from them too. And they told him that while he was full of a cocktail of antibiotics and painkillers, it'd be best not to attempt any more sudden breakouts.

' _Kingdom,'_ he had thought savagely. ' _Buncha fuckin' idiots.'_ They were all the same. Kingdoms, Saviors, Governors… Just a bunch of self-righteous assholes giving themselves more power than they deserved.

The burly guy he had punched came in sporting a black eye, and leant into Sarah's ear. Daryl heard him whispering something that sounded like, ' _the woman from Alexandria is awake.'_

"Who?" demanded Daryl.

Instead of answering, Sarah raised an eyebrow and said to the other guy, "She lost a lot of blood, but she's clearly a fighter, that one."

"Who is it?" he demanded once again, but they left his bedside. He wanted to follow but his head swam mercilessly and as soon as he tried to sit up straight, he felt at risk of fainting, and so lay back against his pillow.

What had happened after he had blacked out? Where were the others? Who else had been brought here and with what injuries? Whoever it was had lost a lot of blood… Maggie, perhaps? Had the stress of losing Glenn caused her to lose the baby?

Another innocent dead, and more blood on his hands…

He rolled over onto his side, wanting to forget the world in a deep sleep but knowing that it would elude him. Worrying that if he did manage to sleep, he'd probably get another visit from Glenn, telling him he wasn't good enough to be part of this family.

A memory of being gravely injured and lying in a warm, comfortable bed, while Carol stayed near him came back to him. She had told him then that he was every bit as good as any of the others, but how could he be? When his poor judgment had gotten people killed, and put his people in danger?

He wondered what she would say to him if she were here now. Would she still say that he was good enough? Would she even care? They'd drifted so far apart from each other since arriving in Alexandria, since she was finally able to live the life of comfort she deserved. The vision he'd had of Glenn was right. What good was some redneck piece of trash to a woman like that?

When sleep finally took hold of him, it was troubled and restless, and he spent the whole night chasing Carol through the woods as she ran from him, always in sight, but never quite able to reach her.

 _Day 5_

The grey dawn sky was visible through his window, and heavy clouds rolled in over the horizon. He thought he could hear the distant rumble of thunder, a sound that vaguely echoed in the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

There had been a nagging feeling in his stomach that had woken him up before the sun had even begun to rise. He needed to know who from Alexandria had ended up here alongside him, and as soon as he heard the sound of low conversation and people walking past outside his room, he had forced himself up and out of bed.

After leaving his room, he walked down a corridor, with several doors going off to either side. Wherever this place, this _Kingdom_ was, it looked like a school, and it made him strangely uncomfortable. Thankfully it didn't take him long to see a familiar face; Morgan was talking to the doctor. Daryl shook his head slightly. Were the pain killers still having that much of an effect on his mind? He had no recollection of Morgan being held captive by Negan. None whatsoever. So what was he doing here?

As Daryl approached, Morgan looked up and excused himself from the blonde doctor's company. "It's good to see you awake," he said, as he walked towards Daryl. "It was touch and go for a while, but—"

"What the hell's goin' on?" interrupted Daryl.

"Haven't they told you anything?" asked Morgan.

"Nothin'"

Morgan ran a hand over his chin and nodded slowly. "Ok," he said at last. "You want to sit down?"

"Just tell me what's goin' on."

"I only know part of it. I arrived here about five days ago, and not long after, you turned up, unconscious, with a group of men who were armed to the teeth. They dumped you at the gates with instructions to fix you."

"Who else was with me?"

"None of our people. The people here at Kingdom thought you were one of Negan's men until I told them otherwise. They said you were lucky to be alive if that was the case; apparently killing someone in a group is their standard form of greeting."

The horrifying image of Glenn swam in his vision for a moment, and Daryl put an arm out to the wall to steady himself. "Why are you here? And who else is here? I heard them sayin' somethin' about a woman from Alexandria."

Morgan swallowed apprehensively, and Daryl felt a dreadful sinking feeling at the look on his face. "Carol was brought here," he said. "She's fine," he quickly added, holding his hands up placatingly at the sight of Daryl's obvious panic. "She'll be fine. And now you're both awake, I plan to head back home. Let them know you're ok. The people here told me about Negan, about what he does. I'll help them out at Alexandria and as soon as we're able, I'll send a car here to collect you both. Bring you home."

"Where is she?" he demanded. "We're comin' with you."

Morgan shook his head. "You're not strong enough for the journey yet. Neither of you are. The people here are good people. You'll be ok here for now."

Daryl took a step closer towards him, as anger and fear bubbled up inside him. "Where is she?" he repeated in a low, dangerous voice.

"End of the corridor. Last door on the right."

He didn't need to be told twice, and barged directly past Morgan, not bothering to apologize for nearly knocking the other man to the ground.

The room was a little larger than his own, with a similar set up. An old gym mat in the corner for a bed. Three or four plastic chairs stacked in an opposite corner. A wooden writing desk. But by far the most eye-catching part of the room was its sole occupant. She was sat on the windowsill, gazing outdoors, one finger tracing the contours of her bottom lip, while she lightly held the crucifix about her neck with her other hand. She was entirely lost in thought and did not notice Daryl stood in the doorway.

No one in his life had ever had such a profound effect on him. She took his breath away, and he felt that he would be happy to just drink in the sight of her safe and sound for the rest of his life. Typical that it had taken the end of the world for him to make a connection with another human being.

But the mere sight of her, while it was enough to somehow simultaneously elevate his heart rate, and leave him feeling calm and at peace, did not answer the question of how she too had come to be so far away from home. For a brief moment he wondered if he was hallucinating again. There was no way, absolutely no way at all, that she should be here.

"Hey," he said, taking a tentative step inside the room.

She turned suddenly as if spooked, and as soon as she met his gaze a plethora of raw emotions crossed her face, each one matching something inside him. But after just a second's pause, her blue eyes turned cold and hard, and she turned back to face the window. "Go home, Daryl," she said in a dead voice.

"What is this shit?" he responded, taking another step closer.

"I said go home," she repeated in a firmer tone. "I don't want you here. Leave me."

"I aint goin' nowhere without you."

A look of absolute inner pain crossed her face, and Daryl took a large stride towards her, no longer caring why or how she came to be in this place. It only mattered that she was hurting, and that he could put a stop to it.

"Don't you dare come any closer to me, Daryl Dixon," she spat, the pain on her face turning angrier. "I don't know how you found me, but you shouldn't have come. I don't want you here."

A wave of furious hurt welled up in his chest, and powerless to cope with the emotion he turned on his heels, wanting at that moment to be anywhere else in the world. It didn't matter where; just as long as he could pretend that she hadn't just spoken to him that way. As he left Carol's room, his anger exploded out from him and he hit the doorway to release some of the pent up fury.

Big mistake. The movement and impact sent a spike of pain directly to his wounded shoulder, and he grunted at the sudden agonizing pang. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Carol make a movement as if she were about to approach him, and he could hear her sharp intake of breath. He flashed her a look as if to challenge her to come to him, and the sadness and worry in her eyes drained away, to be replaced once again by cold indifference. She returned to her silent vigil at the window, as he took his wounded pride and aching heart and stalked back to his own room.

He lay back on the makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling, and stayed completely still until he lost track of time. Long shadows began to creep their way across the room, reaching out like skeletal fingers, covering everything with a layer of darkness until there was no light left. Turmoil raged in his heart and mind over the altercation he and Carol had had. He still had no idea how she and Morgan had come to be so far away from the safe haven of their home. Morgan had left, Carol refused to speak to him, and he refused to speak to the self-righteous pricks roaming around Kingdom. As such, there was no one to ask. But whatever had brought her here, he seemed to be the last person that she had wanted to see.

What had he done to drive her away? Only a couple of months ago, he had dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she might have feelings for him that echoed the ones he secretly harbored for her. He would never, ever admit how he felt. It had taken him nearly two years to admit it to himself, and the fear of the humiliation of rejection… He felt that he'd rather face a room of a hundred walkers than the possibility of having her know and turn him away.

So for her to speak to him like that, for her to tell him that she didn't want him here, to shout at him not to come any closer when all he had wanted was to hold her, to have her hold him…it was too much.

From outside his room, he heard the sound of raised voices, and could swear he heard someone say, "King Ezekiel's returned!" He rolled onto his good side, his patience with these people diminishing even further. A fucking self-proclaimed king, no less. Just one more idiot to avoid until he could convince Carol to return to Alexandria with him.

 _Day 6_

The man who had declared himself king tried to introduce himself to Daryl the following day. However, the bullet wound in Daryl's shoulder was giving him far more grief than the doctors had hoped, and he was once again dosed up to his eyeballs on painkillers. He had never been more grateful to have been shot, and the strange, exuberant man did not stick around for long.

While the strange mix of drugs prevented one unwanted visitor from talking to him, it opened the door for another. Even with his eyes closed, Daryl could see Glenn staring at him accusingly. Sometimes as the fresh-faced young kid he'd first met at the quarry in Atlanta. Sometimes as the man he'd grown into. More and more often as the bloodied corpse he'd ended up as. Over and over, Daryl had been reliving the terrible events of the past week that all began with Denise being killed by his own crossbow bolt. She was dead because of him, because he'd spared that son of bitch, Dwight. And Glenn was dead because he couldn't finish what he'd started. Their blood was on his hands. And Tara's grief, and Maggie's tears, and her baby growing up without a father… His fault. All of it.

"They told me you'd been shot."

The sound of her voice jolted him from his melancholy. His eyes flew open, and he sat up on the gym mat, immediately leaning his back against the cold, hard wall in order to look up at her. Tears streaked her pale face, and her eyes were red rimmed, but it was an enormous relief to see that she was no longer looking on him with anger.

In place of a 'yes' he gave a brief jerk of his head.

"You ok?" she asked him, to which he replied with a non-committal grunt. She nodded and began to walk back down the hall, and Daryl couldn't help but notice that she was limping very slightly.

"What happened to you?" he called out after her.

"Also shot," she replied, with half a glance back over her shoulder.

"You ok?"

She turned to face him fully, a tight, sad smile on her face, and her eyes were shining once again. "No," she said.

The sight of her pain and sadness caused his heart to shatter, and he clambered shakily to his feet, determined to do something— _anything_ —to ease it for her.

"Don't," she said, before he could get any closer. "Please, just… don't. If I let you get closer I'll— "

She stopped herself from talking and looked away, wiping the tears that fell on the back of her sleeve.

A thousand words ran through his mind as he fought to find the right thing to say. A tiny voice in his mind wanted to confess everything to her, and for a split second he allowed himself the fantasy that she would open her arms to him. He pushed the image away.

"I don' know what's goin' on with ya," he began, "but you aint alone."

"I have to be, Daryl."

"So what you sayin'? You leaving?"

"Not right now," she said. "But when I'm well enough, yes."

"Why?"

She paused for a moment, then stood before him and placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek. "Don't make me say why," she said, before she wiped her eyes once more. The darkness under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, and she swayed slightly on the spot. He put a hand out to steady her, but she shrugged him away. "Don't," she repeated, and her exhaustion seemed to increase tenfold. "I need to rest, and I'm telling you now, please, don't follow me." Without looking back, she walked away from him, leaving him stricken.

 _Day 7_

Sleep had entirely eluded him. That he had allowed her to walk away without any explanation yet again of why she had come to be so far away from home, how she had gotten injured and ended up here, left him feeling hollow. But she had told him not to follow her and no matter what her request, he couldn't say no to her.

Rain spattered against the window in a never ending, syncopated rhythm; huge droplets hammered hard against the pain, only to be replaced seconds later by a faint drizzle as light as a whisper. Moments later the wind picked up, and the rain got heavier once again. It was hypnotic, and helped Daryl clear his mind enough to for his resolve to form. He would talk to her today, and he would not let her push him away again.

Very slowly, the sun crept across the sky in its never ending arc, staying hidden behind the clouds, but as it did so the grey light in his room turned brighter, until he could no longer wait.

She was alone in her room, sat on the edge of her makeshift bed, her arms around her knees. In silence, he sat down beside her and waited for her to speak first.

The minutes dragged on, but for her Daryl was nothing if not patient. Eventually she lifted her head and said, "Why are you here?"

"I could ask the same thing of you."

"I asked first."

Daryl shrugged. "I didn't have no say in it."

"Likewise," she answered.

He glanced sideways at her—at the pain she was masking—and waited another few minutes. "You gonna tell me what's really happenin'?"

Her head fell forward onto her knees once more. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

She lifted her head once more but still refused to look at him. "I've done so many terrible things. And I didn't do them for me. It wasn't out of any sense of self-preservation. I did them for you. For all of you. And I won't. I won't do it anymore. And if I stay, I'll continue hurting people. So I'm going, Daryl. You can't stop me."

"Like hell, I can't!" he said.

"As soon as I'm well enough, I'm going to leave."

"So what?" he spat. "So you can get shot again?"

"If it happens, so be it," she shrugged, her eyes shining.

"You can't leave us! You can't leave…" he paused. He had been on the brink of saying 'me.'

She looked at him almost expectantly, and for a moment he wondered if she had hoped for him to say that one word, the word that would confirm his feelings. But he was a coward, and very soon the moment passed. She was slipping through his fingers, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

"We gotta stick together," he said. "There's bad people out there, and we—"

"How do you know it's not us that's bad? I've lost count of how many people I've killed. And… I've said and done things that…." Her breath hitched in her throat, and she fell forward once again.

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. "We aint bad," he said.

"You're wrong," she said, shrugging him away. "I know we are."

A terrible fury rose in his chest at her words; it had been bubbling under the surface of his emotions for a week but now it erupted with full force.

"You don't know shit! You think we're the bad ones, huh? You wanna know what I seen? What I been keepin' from ya? Glenn's dead. That group of fuckin' maniacs out there, the ones that kidnapped you and Maggie? They shot me, and they killed Glenn. No, fuck that. That didn't kill him. They fuckin' _destroyed_ him. I had ta watch as that kid had his fuckin' head smashed to nothin' in front of us all, and you think you had it hard because you were killin' people like that to _protect_ us? I shoulda done more. If I'd'a killed more of them, Glenn'd still be alive. That shit's on me, and on me alone."

Carol stared at him in disbelief. Several silent tears rolled down her cheeks. "Glenn?" she said quietly.

He nodded, and her shaking hands covered her mouth as if she was fighting to hold in the terrible grief.

"I… I'm sorry," she said eventually, and she opened her arms to him. His head fell against her shoulder as she wrapped him in the safety of her arms, and a tidal wave of grief poured from him.

Each racking breath was a catharsis; each stinging tear lessened the terrible, burning pain in his heart. Nothing mattered anymore. All that mattered was that against all odds, against every last piece of shit stacked against them, he had found her again. And this time, he wasn't going to let her go. No matter what.

By the time his breathing returned to normal, he had lost all track of time. He sat up and dried his eyes on the back of his hands.

"So," he said, as soon as he trusted his own voice not to crack. "You're comin' back with me, right?"

"No, Daryl," she said after the briefest of pauses. "This doesn't change anything."

"Yeah, it does."

"I won't go back," she said.

The words cut him deeper than any knife. But after everything he'd been through, he wasn't about to give up now. "Fine," he said, settling back on the gym mat. "Then it looks like I'm stayin' here too."

"You can't do this, Daryl," she said.

"Well, get used to it. I aint goin' nowhere."


	2. Seven Nights

**A/N -** This chapter comes with a couple of warnings: one for a very brief mention of a past major illness, one for brief mentions of past domestic abuse, and a huge smutacular warning for sexual situations.

Thanks for reading, and please hit that review button.

* * *

 _Night 1_

"I aint going nowhere."

She stared at him in disbelief. After everything that had happened, how could he not understand why she was doing this? It had been hard enough having to come to terms with herself, with the person she had become, and her mind was already all but made up to leave, especially as the death of little Sam Anderson had played so heavily on her mind. But as soon as she realised that she had poisoned Daryl too: that had been the exact moment that her decision had been concreted in her mind, and that she knew she had to get away. For his sake as much as for her own.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, turning away from him. "Your family needs you."

"And you think they don't need you too?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"So what? You think after all that shit I went through, I'm just gonna walk away? Fuck that."

"What are you going to do? Lock me in here? Never take your eyes off me?"

"If that's what it takes."

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her knees. Of all the people who could have turned up here at Kingdom, why did it have to be Daryl? It was such an awful dichotomy; she had specifically run away in order to save him, but he was also the only person whom she would consider going back for.

She was acutely aware of his presence on the bed beside him, and she was exceptionally grateful that he made no demands of her. Him simply being there was more than enough to send her into turmoil, to question everything she had decided upon. After all, even after leaving everyone she held dear behind, her first act had been to slaughter a group of men. It seemed impossible to live a peaceful life. Kill or be killed. Whether you were alone or with loved ones. There wasn't a third option.

His weight shifted on the bed beside her and she opened her eyes, and was surprised to see that it was dark outside. He pulled a battered packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and opened them up, sighing heavily at the realisation there was only one left. He lit it and screwed the empty packet up in his fist, tossing it away against the far wall. After taking several deep drags, he offered it to her, and they shared the rest in silence.

"What are you going to do when you can't find any more of these?" she asked.

"Don't wanna think about that," he answered, as he took one final drag and dropped the butt on the floor, grinding it out with the heel of his boot, before he stretched and stood up.

"Are you going?" she asked him, unsure what she wanted the answer to be.

"Naw, I'm getting some sleep. You should too," he said, walking to the corner of the room. He rearranged the plastic chairs to make an exceptionally uncomfortable looking bed, then took his jacket off and folded it as a makeshift pillow.

"And you're just going to sleep on that thing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Slept in worse places," he shrugged, lying down across the chairs.

She stared at him in disbelief. There was no point arguing. He was as stubborn as a mule. If he wanted to prove some kind of a point by sleeping on that hard, lumpy plastic, so be it.

 _Night 2_

Daryl had been pretty much true to his word, and had hardly left her side all day. Just before midday, he vanished for nearly fifteen minutes, then returned with a stack of books. "Figured if this place was once a school, they musta had a pretty good library," he said, before settling down on the bed with a well-thumbed copy of _Lord of the Flies._

She picked up _Jane Eyre_ —a favourite from when she was a teenager—and sat beside him. _'There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.'_ Outside the wind picked up, while the bullet wound in her leg gave a particularly nasty twinge. She allowed herself a tiny half-smile as she read the opening line, the vague familiarity of the words coming back to her.

For the rest of the day Daryl had stayed with her but demanded nothing of her, other than to occasionally ask her if she was comfortable, if she was hungry, if she needed anything.

When night fell, he once again arranged his jacket as a pillow on the plastic chairs and laid back with his eyes closed.

The temperature had dropped severely during the day, and frost was edging its way across the window panes, and Carol pulled the covers tighter around herself as her mind was filled with thoughts of Daryl; of his kindness; his attentiveness without being over-bearing; his honour; his loyalty… It felt like hours passed as she watched the slow progress of the icy tendrils criss-crossing over the glass.

A movement from the corner of the room caught her attention, and she looked over to where Daryl was curled up on the chairs. He was illuminated by the light pouring in from the full moon outside, and Carol could see that his eyes were closed, a slight frown knitting his eyebrows. Every now and then, a shiver racked his body, and he would awkwardly try to tuck his legs in slightly closer, an almost impossible feat on the narrow bed he had made.

"You ok?" she called out to him.

Very slowly he opened his eyes and looked over towards her. "Hmph," he grunted. "Cold."

If she was being entirely honest with herself, she was cold too, and there was an immediate solution to their problem. It wasn't like they hadn't spent many, many months sleeping in close proximity to each other in the past. It was just that back then, while she may have felt a certain physical attraction towards him, she didn't feel the deep, emotional connection she felt now.

Was it love? Her breath caught in her throat at the idea of it. Of course she loved him. Just as she loved Rick, Maggie, Michonne, Glenn… _Glenn…._ She shuddered at the thought of never seeing him again. It seemed impossible. Maybe even another reason to never return to Alexandria. At least while she stayed away, she could pretend that he was still alive… She shook the thought away. It was unbearable and unendurable that he might no longer exist. Instead, she focused on the man in front of her. Of all of her friends, of all of her _family,_ he was the one person that she was willing to do _anything_ for. And it scared her.

So there was no doubt in her mind that she loved Daryl. But the love she felt for him went far deeper than the love she felt for anyone else.

It was a terrifying realisation, and one that she would have to deal with at a later date. For now, she needed pragmatism, and they both needed the simple comfort of a warm body beside them. Nothing more.

"Come here," she said, pulling back the blanket on her bed.

"You serious?" he asked.

"I'm telling you to come here and sleep with me, not to come here and _sleep_ with me," she said. "No matter how tempting that might be," she added, a trace of their old flirtatious banter rising to the surface.

Whether it was the easy joke—a throwback to the happiest they had been—or the practical necessities of sharing warmth, he nodded and crossed the room towards her.

"Boots off," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"What side do you want? Left or right?"

"Left," he said, pointing to the wound in his shoulder. "Can't sleep on my right side."

She shifted over to make room for him. For a moment Carol lamented that he had chosen to sleep on the left, facing away from her. She imagined how it would feel to spoon into him, to have his body wrapped around hers, to sleep in the safe haven of his arms. Even if only to share the extra heat that sleeping that way would generate. Very tentatively, she shifted closer towards him, immediately feeling the relief of the warm body beside her. His scent enveloped her senses; the heady, earthy scent of outdoors mingled with stale tobacco. It was so uniquely _him_ that she began to relax straight away, and before long, was able to drift away into the blissful emptiness of sleep.

 _Night 3_

They were all in the shadows, staring at her accusingly. Some whose names she knew, some she had forgotten, some she had never known. Every person she had killed. In the centre of them was Sam Anderson, watching her unblinkingly. They all whispered amongst themselves, and although Carol couldn't make out what they were saying, she well understood their meaning. They were coming for her. Not to kill her: their revenge would be far worse. They would kill everyone else, everyone she cared for, until she was utterly, utterly alone. Only then would they allow her to die, and to come back with nobody to end her torturous and unending existence.

Her eyes flew open, and she was drenched in a sheen of cold sweat. Daryl was beside her, and she shifted closer to the sturdy warmth of his back, but the fear she had felt from the dead in the shadows stayed with her, clawing at her lungs.

She jumped a little when Daryl twitched in his sleep, an incoherent mumble falling from his lips. He seemed to be fighting his own night time demons, and she reached a hand out to gently stroke between his shoulders.

Without warning, he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes open and his breathing fast and shallow.

"Rough night, huh?" she said.

There was a look of disoriented confusion on his features, and as soon as his eyes fell on her, his face fell. "Thank god," he muttered, and he swept her into his arms, his head falling onto her shoulder. She placed a series of gentle kisses to the top of his head and whispered soothing platitudes until his breathing steadied once again.

"Here," he said, lying back down and opening his arms to her.

"You sure?" she asked him.

"Hmmm," he said. "I need ta know you're ok. That you're still here. Please."

She rested her head down against his shoulder, and he immediately enveloped her in his strong arms. It was, without doubt, the safest she had felt in years.

It was also nothing that she deserved. Years earlier, she had learned to cry in complete and utter silence; tears could stream from her eyes, without her breathing hitching for even a split second. If Ed had suspected her of crying, her suffering had always increased tenfold. She felt disgusted at herself that her tears were falling silently once again.

No. She did not deserve the man holding her, and he did not deserve her cold treatment. But there was no way she could walk away from this comfort that he offered her so freely. Not tonight, at least…

She closed her eyes, and the dead watched her once more.

 _Night 4_

There was no discussion about sleeping arrangements at all, no pretending that they were going to sleep in any way other than each other's arms. Daryl had laid back and Carol had rested her head on his good shoulder, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. His arms had wrapped around her, his thumb gently stroking along the curve of her waist. It was quite possibly the most intimate moment she had ever shared with another man.

And it terrified her. The longer she stayed here, allowing this fantasy to play out, the more it would hurt when it inevitably ended. She had to go. Before Morgan could return with Rick or any of the others, who would try to bring her back. Before she allowed herself to fall even more irrevocably in love.

She waited until his breathing slowed and deepened, indicating that he had fallen into a restful sleep, then slid out from his embrace. As he rolled onto his good side, she felt a dreadful pang of sadness at leaving him. Part of her desperately wanted nothing more than to rejoin him. But she couldn't. She wouldn't poison him any more.

Impatiently, she brushed away the tears that fell unbidden, and quickly dressed herself as quietly as possible. After pulling on her boots she stole one final glance at him—something beautiful and peaceful to remember him by—then turned away from him, forcing herself to keep going and not look back.

Just as she was about to leave, a voice behind her said, "You goin'?"

Her heart sank. The very last thing she had wanted was for him to catch her in the act of running away.

"I have to," she said, unable to look at him.

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"I already know that what you _said_ the other day was bullshit."

"Don't you dare say that," she said turning back to face him. He was on his feet, his hair tousled from sleep, and the sight of him wasn't making her resolve any easier.

"Why not?" he asked. "It's true."

"You have no idea how I feel," she added in a low, dangerous voice.

"Yeah? Try me."

She was shaking with rage, but she refused to back down. In two strides she crossed the room to where he was standing, grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and pulled him closer to her. She crushed her lips against his in a desperate and almost painful kiss, one that was filled with every ounce of hurt and anger coursing through her veins. Before he could respond, she shoved hard against his chest, pushing him away from her, and she was gratified to see how dazed and confused he looked.

"That's why I can't stay!" she said, and tears were rolling freely down her face. "Because I can't… I can't watch you get hurt. I can't watch you die. And I can't bear the thought that I would kill a hundred thousand people before I let that happen to you. I can't stand the person I am, the monster I've become. I can't stand that I'm changing you, too. So let me go. Let me be alone. Let me have nothing but my memories of what was good, and pure, and whole, before I corrupted everything."

He stood stock still, mouth slightly agape, as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time.

"Nothing to say?" she taunted. "Fine."

She turned and started for the door, but felt a gentle grip on the top of her arm.

"Carol….wait."

It was the first time she could recall him using her name, and that more than anything weakened her resolve. She felt the wall that she had been building up around her crumbling to dust, despite her best efforts to keep it there. "What, Daryl?" she said, her voice cracking.

"You aint a monster. Can't you just…" He paused, and Carol could see the panic in his eyes. It cut through her like a knife. "Stay," he said eventually. "With me. We don't have to go back if you don't want. But don't leave me again."

His hand slid from the top of her arm, coming to rest at her hand, and he entwined his fingers through hers.

She stared at where their hands were joined. "I'm so broken," she choked out, and he immediately pulled her into a gentle hug.

She pressed her face into the front of his shirt as her sorrow began to pour from her. It encompassed everything; everything that happened since the world had ended. She cried for the loss of her daughter. For the loss of every friend she had ever known. For the loss of her own innocence. And while she sobbed, Daryl continued to hold her in his arms, waiting patiently for her tears to subside.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there, being held by him, but as she ran through the endless lists of people she had known and lost, her tears slowly dried.

She pulled away from his chest, and he cradled her head in his hands, gently running his fingers through her hair. His warm touch sent a glorious shiver over her skin, and her breath caught in her throat as she realised just how close they were. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, and she found herself licking her own in anticipation.

Without conscious thought, she reached up to touch his cheek, and his eyes fell closed as she ran her fingers along the grey-flecked scruff of his beard. Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest, almost as if it were trying to escape, to give itself to the man before her. Slowly, inexorably, she drew him closer towards her, until their lips were touching at last. His were warm and dry, and Carol swore that he trembled slightly against her. For an unbearable moment he stayed entirely still, but then, with a soft sigh, he opened his mouth to her. His arms tightened around her, pressing every inch of his body into hers as his tongue gently ran across the seam of her lips, and she melted further into his embrace.

It felt as if years had been wasted. She had wanted this for as long as she could remember, and from Daryl's reaction, so had he. So much time denying herself, denying her own feelings, when their years could have been spent offering each other the love and support they both so desperately craved.

She was breathless when she finally pulled away from him, and as he rested his forehead against hers, she looked up into his clear blue eyes, so full of hope. "Don't leave me again," he said.

She smiled softly. She may have been unwilling to make any promises. But at that moment, she had absolutely no intention of leaving him.

 _Night 5_

Like most days since arriving in Kingdom, they had spent much of their time avoiding other people as much as possible. Both had continued reading their chosen books, but in a much closer proximity to each other than before.

Carol was still very much undecided as to whether or not to return to Alexandria, but Daryl had, for now at least, persuaded her to wait until Morgan returned with someone else from the town, someone who would inevitably also try to persuade her.

Every now and then, Daryl would put down his book for a moment, lean into her, and press a delicate kiss to just below her ear and offer her the shyest of half-smiles before returning to his reading. It felt like the closest to a normal life she'd had in a long, long time.

And when she intercepted one of his gentle kisses, turning it into something altogether more passionate, she began to allow the terrible fear and sadness to melt away.

His kisses seemed almost uncertain, as if he were more than happy for Carol to take the lead. And she was. She pulled away from him for just a moment, her eyes roaming over every familiar line of his face, and she noticed that his blue eyes were swallowed by the darkness of his pupils. The sight awakened a special kind of hunger inside her, one that could only be sated by the man in front of her. She pushed him back against the bed and straddled him in a single movement, ignoring the constant ache that came from the bullet wound in her leg. Being close to him was far more important than any physical pain, and his kisses a far stronger medicine than any pain killer.

Darkness settled around them as the sun set over the horizon, and Carol found that as their visibility lessened, Daryl's confidence seemed to grow. Their mouths moved in concord, and each motion elicited a soft groan from deep in his throat. As her tongue pressed into the warmth of his, he smoothed his hands down her back, coming to rest on her hips. He gripped them tightly and began to thrust his own hips gently upwards so that she could feel the delicious bulge of his erection pressing into her centre. Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of him, and she keeled forwards, trailing a series of light kisses from his lips to the crook of his neck, matching every one of his movements, increasing the friction between them.

When was the last time she had felt this kind of passion? She had no memory of it. She supposed she must have felt some kind of fire with Ed, in the beginning at least, although she couldn't recall anything like this. And with Tobin there had been…nothing. Just an empty desperation to feel normal, to feel human again, and to drive Daryl further away in order to protect him.

Her eyes flew open and she froze. Tobin. When Morgan returned to Alexandria with news that he had located her, Tobin would inevitably volunteer himself to drive to Kingdom and bring her back. It had never been her intention to hurt him—he was a good man, after all—but it looked inevitable. And worse than that….what would having Tobin show up here, and attempting to sweep her into his arms do to Daryl? Would he try and fight for her? Or even worse than that, stoically accept it and walk away?

"Sorry," breathed Daryl, clearly mistaking her reaction for nervousness as he reached up and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Shouldn'a taken it so fast. Come here." He shifted over on the bed, indicating that she should lie down with him. She curled into his side, resting her head against his shoulder. As he placed a few delicate kisses to the top of her head, he reached into his pants to adjust himself, and Carol caught a brief glimpse of the coarse, dark curls, before he withdrew his hand and pulled her into a tighter hug. The knowledge that he wasn't wearing underwear sent a pleasurable squirm spiralling through her, but it certainly didn't make what she had to say any easier.

"I slept with Tobin," she blurted out, before her confidence could fail her.

Silence. His hand had been gently caressing the top of her arm but his movement stilled.

"I've been sleeping with him for a couple of weeks. It didn't…mean…anything, but… He might return with Morgan, and… It's over. I promise you, it's over. But I thought you should know."

More silence. Then without a single word, he slid his arm out from underneath her and walked away, leaving her alone with nothing but her own sense of loss.

 _Night 6_

She didn't see him at all during the day. Night had fallen, and she was perched on the edge of the bed with a small bowl of potato and lentil stew when he finally came in to see her.

In silence he sat down next to her, and she could immediately sense his tension and nervousness. Strange that a man who had been through so much—who was a survivor at the end of the world—could feel nervous just by sitting near a friend. Or…whatever they had become over the last few days.

"Have you eaten?" she asked him.

He shook his head, and she offered him the remainder of her bowl. When he shook his head yet again, she said, "You should. Here."

Begrudgingly, he took it from her and ate the remaining contents, a slight frown knitting his brows. It was clear that he wanted to talk, and that it was a terrible and painful subject to him. And also that he had no idea how to instigate the conversation that needed to take place.

"Daryl, I—"

"Do you love him?" he interrupted her.

"Tobin?"

He nodded tightly.

She almost laughed at the question. As if she could simply fall in love with just anyone, after being through so very much. "No," she said. "I don't love him. I just… I wanted to know that I was still human. That I could still… _feel._ "

He nodded slowly. "Did it work?"

"No," she admittedly sadly. "I feel bad for using him but… No. I felt nothing. Not with him."

She placed a delicate emphasis on the last sentence, and moved her hand a couple of inches closer to his.

"And me?" he asked.

"You make me feel."

"Feel what?"

She paused, her eyes roaming over his lined face, and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Everything," she answered.

She shifted her weight closer to him, but he made no move towards her.

"You using me, too?"

"No. Never." Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest as she fought to find the right words. Quickly blinking away the tears that had formed, she said, "I wanted to forget you. To push you away. I was becoming a monster and… I didn't want to get close to you, because I didn't want you to become one as well. You were starting to behave more like me, and… I hate myself for that."

"I told ya before. You aint a monster. Don't ever say that you are."

She moved her hand closer to his and he took hold of it, squeezing gently. "Thank you," she whispered.

The world slowed to a halt as Daryl lifted his hand to her cheek, and softly brushed away her tears with the calloused pad of his thumb. His hand dropped to her chin, tilting her face ever so slightly towards his, and she held her breath in anticipation of what was to follow.

The gentle heat of his lips ghosted over hers as he pressed a single, chaste kiss to her mouth, then slowly pulled away.

Desire knotted tightly in her stomach. She wanted so much more from him than he seemed willing to give right now. Perhaps her reaction yesterday had made him think that she didn't really want him? Or maybe he was waiting for her to take the lead? There was a sure-fire way to find out…

She stood before him and pulled him to his feet. He gave no resistance at all when she reached for the top button of his shirt, and she slowly, tantalisingly, undid every last one, pushing the fabric off of his broad shoulders. His right shoulder was bandaged, and she gently ran her fingers over the top. "How does it feel?" she asked.

"Ok," he answered, and he swallowed briefly before taking half a step closer towards her. He looked her in the eyes, silently asking her permission, and she gave the slightest of nods. In one movement he pulled her vest top over her head and let it drop to the floor, then took a step backwards to admire her. Like her, he ran his fingertips over the top of her bandages—one around her waist and one around her arm—and said, "Does it still hurt?"

"Not right now."

Her heart was pounding furiously as she closed the gap between them, the need to feel his skin against her own almost over powering. She ran her hands over his chest and down over his stomach, then stepped even closer in order to press her body against his. As her she ran her hands up his back and over the ridges of scars, she felt him freeze and his muscles tense, until she whispered, "It's ok. It's ok."

It occurred to her that perhaps he felt too exposed? But there was a way to even that score. She stepped back away from him very slightly and reached behind her own back, undoing the clasp on her bra, and then shrugged the garment to the floor.

His eyes ran over every inch of her torso, and he breathed the single word, " _Jesus_."

But her removal of that one piece of clothing switched something on in him. He swept her up in his strong arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pinned her to the wall. Up until now every single one of his kisses had been sweet, tender, and reserved, but something desperate and animalistic had been awoken inside him.

And whatever fire had been lit inside him was matched perfectly with the burning fire inside her own belly. She flung her head back against the wall, exposing her neck to him, and she couldn't help but gasp as his teeth nipped along her collarbone, as he sucked at the sensitive flesh at the crook of her neck.

Her breathing stuttered as he lowered his head firstly to her left breast, drawing her nipple into his hot mouth, then her right. She wound her hands tightly into his hair, holding him in place as his tongue lathed the swollen bud.

"Daryl..." she whispered, and he paused in his ministrations, gazing up at her with adoration in his eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said in a low, husky voice, before he crushed his lips against hers. She sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gently grazing it with the edge of her teeth, and was rewarded with a deep, throaty moan which she greedily swallowed.

Outside the sanctuary of their room, they heard the sound of footsteps and raised voices. They froze, staring at the door, before Daryl put her down and grabbed one of the plastic chairs, wedging it up against the door.

The strangest sensation bubbled up inside her; it had been so long since she had felt the urge that she didn't immediately recognise it for what it was—laughter. She felt suddenly like they were a pair of naughty teenagers trying not to get caught.

As she tried to stifle the laugh into her hand, she caught Daryl's eye and he offered her shy smile tinged with just a hint of mischief. The sight caused the knot of desire in her stomach to tighten even further.

An unspoken agreement passed between them as they made eye contact, and they sat on the edge of the bed, both fighting to divest themselves of their boots as quickly and as quietly as possible. As soon as Carol kicked both of hers away from her, she turned her attention to the man next to her who was cursing quietly at the tightened double knot in his laces.

"Here," she said, struggling to keep her shaking hands steady as she knelt before him and undid the offending lace. She looked up and caught him watching her with an intensity that sent a rush of heat spiralling through her core and left her breathless.

The hunger for him increased. Lust, desire, need, every primal instinct in her body, those that she had kept suppressed for most of her adult life, that she never dreamed would be fulfilled, overflowed within her, and she tore at the fly of his pants, yanking them down over his hips.

His thick cock was already hard, and she swallowed in anticipation of how it would feel. He was undoubtedly bigger than both Ed and Tobin, but not so large as to be intimidating. Never had she wanted anything so much.

With all the effort in the world, she tore her eyes away from his erection and took his hands in her own, placing them at the waist of her own pants. He took the hint immediately and fumbled with the button fly, then hooked his fingers through the waistband and pulled them down, bringing his hands back up to languidly smooth along the backs of her thighs. As he did so, she tightly wound her hands once more into his hair, the frustration at needing him, of needing his body next to her, _inside her,_ was building to an unbearable peak.

But while she needed him immediately, he seemed more than content to take his time, gently caressing her freckled skin, teasing her by bringing his face close enough that she could feel his hot breath against her body, but never quite making contact.

"Daryl," she whimpered, rocking her hips forward, desperately hoping that he would take the hint.

It worked. He swallowed heavily then hooked his fingers through the waistband of her panties, lazily pulling them down over her hips at last.

" _Fuck…"_ he murmured, as her clothes pooled at her feet on the floor, and she quickly stepped out of them.

Her patience was exhausted. She needed him, and she needed him _now._ With an impressive strength she pushed him down onto the bed and straddled him, his hardness pressing towards the heat of her centre. Quickly she reached into the space between them and wrapped her fingers around his length, the groan this simple action elicited from him sending an intense swooping sensation to her stomach. She held him steady, and began to lower herself onto him.

"Wait," he said breathlessly, his hands gripping hold of her thighs as he held her still.

"What's wrong?"

"You aint ready. I don't want to hurt ya."

"You won't," she said impatiently, moving herself into position once again.

"I aint takin' that risk."

"It'll be fine."

He quickly reached between them and ran a finger between her folds, causing her to gasp and pitch forward. "You aint ready," he repeated. "I can help ya with that."

Until now, their nakedness hadn't made her feel in any way uncomfortable, but suddenly she felt dreadfully exposed. She sat back on her haunches, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You don't need to," she said quietly.

"Hell yeah, I do," he said, raising himself up on his elbows. "What kinda man don't satisfy his woman first?"

"All the ones I've been with," she answered, lost in thought. She looked away embarrassed, worried about what kind of woman that made her sound like. ' _All the ones?'_ The truth was she had only been with two men. She'd been with Ed since leaving High School, and he hadn't given a shit about her pleasure, taking what he wanted from her and giving nothing at all back. And with Tobin… there had just been nothing. Nothing at all. She had faked everything with him so as not to hurt his feelings.

"Sounds like you just aint been with the right guy," he said, gently pulling her down to lie beside him.

"Look, no one has ever been able to…"

"You saying you never come before?"

"No," she said, her cheeks flooding with heat. "I'm saying that no one _else_ has ever been able to…"

"You got yourself off, though, right?" he asked, tracing a finger slowly from the dip between her breasts, down towards her navel.

The embarrassment she felt increased tenfold. "Stop it," she said coyly.

"Stop what?" he purred. "I want to picture it. I wanna see what you look like when you lose control."

She looked into his clear blue eyes, so full of earnest, so full of desire, and she realised that she had never wanted anything more than she had wanted this. A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. "Ok," she answered at last.

He matched her smile, and dragged his fingertips back up her body, then held two fingers to her mouth, tracing the delicate skin of her bottom lip. She kissed them and drew them into her mouth, sucking on them, gaining encouragement from the pleasurable noises that came from him. Despite the bitter tang of stale tobacco, she didn't want to stop and she uttered a noise of deep disappointment when he pulled her fingers from her mouth with a wet *pop.*

His heavily lidded eyes were focused on her mouth, and he leant over, pressing a deep kiss on to her lips, while his fingers—the two digits that were coated in her own spit—came to rest at the apex between her thighs. She couldn't contain the sudden groan of pleasure, which Daryl greedily swallowed by deepening the kiss.

She gasped as he ran a slick finger along her folds, and a tingling electricity ran over her entire body, causing her to arch her back off the bed. He repeated the action with just a little firmer pressure, and as her eyes fluttered closed, she felt his mouth against her own, his tongue gently flicking along her lower lip.

She whimpered when the exquisite pressure was removed, and opened her eyes to see him sucking on one finger. Moments later the pressure returned, lower this time, and she gasped and gripped onto his shoulders as he pressed the finger to her entrance, slowly sliding it inside.

She felt a quivering rush of heat as he unhurriedly pulled out and pushed back in several times, then added a second finger, curling both forward, making her cry out his name as her back arched once again.

When he slid his fingers out they were slick with her arousal, and he began to languidly circle her clit, nuzzling into the crook of her neck at the same time.

"Oh…" she gasped, as his fingers ran over a spot that sent pulsing shivers over her entire body.

"You like that?" he growled.

"Yes… I…Oh, Daryl… Jesus, don't stop…" she begged.

His breath was hot against her ear, and he drew her lobe into his mouth, alternately sucking and nibbling as she felt the pressure inside her begin to build. It began as a burning fire, low in her abdomen, that spread like hot, sweet liqueur to each of her extremities. An intense palpitation followed, one that sent a blaze of energy to every nerve ending. Stars exploded behind her eyelids, and she forgot everything as the pain of her existence was replaced by a pleasure that never seemed to end.

Her breathing was ragged, the sheets in her balled-up fists twisted, and every nerve in her body alert. Slowly, she came back to herself, her heart racing in her chest. Daryl's fingers were still lazily circling her clit and she pushed his hand away, giggling as she did. "It's too much," she breathed.

"Too much?" he smirked, and he put his fingers in his own mouth and sucked them with an appreciative groan. "I been waitin' nearly two years for this. I aint even gettin' started yet."

In a single, fluid movement, he was on top of her, his lips pressing into hers, his hands pinning hers to the bed.

He began to trail a series of rough, whiskery kisses from her collarbone, down between her breasts, and over her stomach. As soon as his intention became obvious, she fisted a handful of his hair and breathlessly said, "Stop this."

"Stop what?" he asked her.

"You don't have to do…that."

"I know I don't _have_ to. I _want_ to."

Anxiety bubbled up in her chest, replacing the warm after-glow of her orgasm with something cold and dead. It was painful and impossible to explain why she didn't want him that close to her.

"I'm not… I've not…shaved…" she said, only partially as an excuse. If she hadn't been completely hairless for Ed…

Daryl stared at her in disbelief. "I don't care," he said. "I want a woman, not some fucking Barbie doll."

"Please," she begged him. "Not now. Not yet."

A memory came back to her, something that seemed years and years ago, of her flirting with Daryl at the prison. Joking about him "going down first." She never thought she'd actually be in a position to have to turn him down. But on more than one occasion, her husband had gone down on her so viciously and violently, and had then proceeded to tell her how disgusting she was, that he had made her feel nothing but shame over her own body. So to have someone so intimately close to her that she genuinely cared about…it terrified her.

"You mean it, huh?" he asked, and she nodded.

"For now," she said.

He returned to lay by her side, and Carol felt a hot flush of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"You don't apologise for nothing," he said.

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the furious pounding of his heartbeat, and resting her hand over his stomach. His erection was waning and she felt a terrible guilt for leaving him hanging so badly.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

She dropped her hand lower, and lightly brushed against the soft, warm flesh of his cock, making it twitch slightly. "I can take care of you too, if you want."

"Well, I aint gonna say no," he teased.

She sat up in front of him, and encouraged him to do the same, then sat in his lap, wrapping her legs loosely around him. He reached forward, covering one of her breasts with his hand, gently squeezing the soft mound of flesh. Each soft massaging motion from him drew a satisfied whimper from the back of her throat, and soon he was hard once again. Carol smiled to herself. He seemed to get as much excitement from pleasuring her as she did.

His lips were slightly parted, and his breathing shallow with anticipation as she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. Her reward was a lustful moan, which she captured and swallowed in an open mouthed kiss.

Slowly but firmly, she slid her hand down the length of his flesh, smiling into their kiss as each movement drew soft whimpers from him. He gripped hard onto her shoulders as she drew her thumb several times over the tip, collecting the wetness, before returning to stroking down his full length.

With her free hand she cupped his balls, gently squeezing them as she continued to alternately stroke his length, and then run her palm over the head.

It wasn't long before his breathing was coming out in ragged gasps, and she rested her forehead against his. "You ok?" she asked him. He nodded shortly, as if the power of speech had eluded him for the time being. She began to pick up the pace, and he let out an incoherent groan, and placed his hand over the top of hers, forcing her to slow back down. Moments later, his entire body tensed as he crushed his lips against hers, and Carol felt a rush of wet heat in her palm, before Daryl collapsed forward against her, desperately clinging to her like a lifeline.

His breathing was heavy and laboured, and he clumsily pressed a series of kisses up the slender line of her neck to her lips. There was a look of adoration on his face as he gazed into her eyes. He parted his mouth slightly as if he wanted to say something then immediately closed it, as if he had changed his mind. Incredible that after the intimacy they had just shared, he could still demonstrate such shyness.

In a swift, deft movement, he tore a strip of fabric from the bedsheet and handed it to her. "Here," he mumbled, color flooding his cheeks. "To clean yourself up."

He ripped a second piece away and wiped at himself, as Carol used the strip of cotton to clean her hands. He took the rag from her, and chucked both pieces in the far corner, before he reached out to gently cup her cheek in his hand.

"We're good, yeah?" he said softly.

She rested her hand over the top of his, lightly tracing over his fingers with her own, then leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips. "We're good," she agreed.

 _Night 7_

Despite their shared intimacy and sleeping naked in each other's arms, the next day neither one of them spoke about what had happened between them. Strangely, this didn't worry Carol in the slightest. After all, he wasn't in any way being cold to her. She figured it was just his way of being; he was someone who much preferred to communicate through action than through words.

As the sun was setting, the doctor had come in to change Carol's bandages. She raised an eyebrow at the fact that Daryl had clearly spent at least the last couple of nights by Carol's side, but merely said, "Can I assume, then, that we can give your room to someone else who might need it?"

Daryl had nodded, and begrudgingly allowed her to change his bandage too, his body filled with tension at every touch.

Once they were alone, Carol turned to him and said, "You don't trust them, do you?"

Daryl shrugged. "After the shit we been through? Hell no. I don't trust no one."

"Not even me?" she teased.

"Maybe you," he relented. "So long as you aint gonna run again."

There was no possibility of that, she conceded. After last night, there was no way she could bring herself to leave him. But still, the thought of returning to the others, of facing up to the reality of what had happened to Glenn, to be surrounded by the ghosts of the dead at Alexandria… She wasn't sure she was ready for that, either. "I won't run," she confirmed. "I'm making no promises about going back but—"

"So long as we're together."

"So long as we're together," she agreed, the slightest of smiles uplifting the corners of her mouth, and she reached for his hand, entwining her fingers with his.

His thumb traced small circles over the back of her hand, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see a muscle working in Daryl's jaw. It was a nervous habit, something she associated with him wanting to speak but being unwilling to open up. She squeezed his hand a little harder and waited patiently for him to be ready. A deep intake of breath told her that he had worked up enough courage to speak at last. "And last night…" he began. "Was that some kinda one time only thing?"

His uncertainty brought a playful smile to her face. "Perhaps you should lock the door again and we can find out," she said in her most seductive voice.

Clearly he didn't need to be told twice, and he quickly wedged a chair under the door handle before returning to her side.

Last night she had been so starved for his touch that she had hurried everything, but tonight she wanted to take her time and enjoy every single moment. She wanted to be able to memorise every inch of his skin, every line, every scar, every single perfect imperfection. She would savour every kiss, every touch, every caress…nothing needed to be rushed at all.

Very slowly, she ran her hands down the front of his shirt, before she gripped the fabric and pulled him onto the bed to lie on top of her. His hands wound into her hair, his tender kiss sending reverberations right to the very core of her. It grew in intensity, his mouth warm and insistent, and she held on to him as if he were the only real and solid thing in the world.

With a certain amount of trepidation, she began to run her hands over his body, delighting in the feel of his taut muscles beneath his clothes. She settled over his ass and squeezed hard, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from him as he bucked his hips forward so that she could feel his growing hardness.

The need to feel his skin directly against hers increased, and she tugged at the hem of his shirt. He understood her desire and sat back on his haunches, so that she could help him remove the article. He watched her with a burning intensity as she undid every single button, his eyes never once leaving her face.

"Stop it," she said, as she slid the item of clothing off of his arms.

"Stop what?" he asked.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that," she said. "Like you're looking at a banquet when you've not eaten for years."

"Maybe I aint," he said in a low murmur.

Her face flooded with colour at his words. Of course she was the first woman he'd had since the end of the world. Opportunities for romance had been pretty slim on the ground since then.

The slightest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth, and he returned the favour, undoing each of the buttons on her shirt with an agonising precision and slowness. With one hand, he reached behind her back and undid the clasp of her bra. "I'm impressed," she gasped, as the flimsy article fell away from her.

There was no denying the look of pride that flashed across his face at her words, and he leaned forward, scooping her up to sit in his lap so that he could envelop her in his arms. She wrapped her legs about his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his heady scent.

Her hands travelled up his back, and once again he tensed each time she passed over one of his scars. "You don't need to be embarrassed," she soothed. "You're perfect as you are."

She trailed a series of kisses along his collarbone, licking and nipping at his skin, the vaguely salty taste of him sending her mind into overdrive. Heat pooled in her belly at the imagined taste and feel of his cock in her mouth.

With each kiss he gave an appreciative little groan and rolled his hips upwards into her so that she could feel the swell of his erection underneath her. Each gentle thrust left her more breathless and more wanton, as she began to match his movements. Their mouths found each other and melded together, their tongues rolling over the other. Her hands wound tightly into his hair and pulled him closer as she continued to grind her hips into him, and she hungrily swallowed the keening sounds he was making.

Breathlessly he pulled away from her, before he pushed her off of his lap and onto her back. More heat flooded her core as he pinned her wrists to the bed, and lowered his lips to her neck, sucking hard on the delicate skin, marking her as his. Without pause, he ducked his head lower, drawing one of her nipples into his hot mouth. He gently grazed it with his teeth, causing her to yelp with the sudden and unexpected sensation. He pulled away and latched on to the other breast, sucking at the swollen bud then releasing it, blowing gently on her wet skin. Goosebumps pricked over her skin as her desire increased every second.

She reached for her belt, and immediately began fumbling with the clasp, until Daryl took over. He deftly undid the buckle, then unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down over her hips, tossing them away.

"You too," she said in a low voice, and he nodded in response. Once again he was not wearing any underwear; Carol wondered briefly if he ever did, or if wearing it had just become another pointless endeavour to him.

"You too," he said with the slightest of smirks, nodding towards the lilac cotton panties she was still wearing.

She complied, and the moan of longing that came from him caused her pulse to pound hard in her ears. He came close to her, tilting her face upwards towards him, and darted his tongue along the seam of her lips.

"You know how earlier we were talkin' about trust?" he said as he ran his hand along the curve of her waist.

Her eyes had fallen closed at his touch. "Yes," she breathed.

"So, you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. 'Cause since yesterday I been thinking how much I wanna kiss you," he said. His splayed hand moved across her belly, carefully avoiding the healing knife wound, then dipped between her legs. "Here."

"Daryl—"

"I aint him," he said firmly. "I don't know what he did to you, but that piece of shit got what he deserved, and I aint him. I aint gonna hurt ya."

"Why do you even want to?"

"Because. You're the most beautiful woman I ever seen, and you don't know it. And I want to make you know how fuckin' beautiful you are."

She exhaled slowly as his words touched her. Not once in her life had she felt truly desirable. Not until last night. And if there was one person in the world she could trust, it was him…

"You already do," she smiled.

"I don't wanna make ya uncomfortable," he said, clearly mistaking the meaning of her answer.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

"So…you gonna allow it?"

Would she? After all, Daryl was right; he wasn't Ed, not by a long a shot.

"Shit," he said when she didn't answer straight away. "I shouldn't be askin' ya. I'm sorry."

"No, wait," she said, reaching out to cup his cheek. "I want it. I want you. But... if I need you to stop…"

"You aint gonna have to ask twice."

"Ok," she said, the faintest of half-smiles playing about her lips.

He encouraged her to lie back on the bed, then he settled between her legs. "So fuckin' beautiful," he repeated, as he placed a series of soft, open mouthed kisses over the plane of her belly. Each one sent a pleasurable squirm from her center to each of her extremities, and she massaged her fingers into his hair. His low, satisfied hum resonated throughout her body, and in response she rolled her hips upwards, desperate for his touch.

The long, lingering kiss he placed on her inner thigh left her gasping, as a pulsing rush of heat pooled between her legs. As his tongue darted out along the soft, delicate skin, his name fell from her lips in long, sibilant sigh.

He glanced up at her, a silent question in his eyes, which she answered with the briefest of nods. Yes, she was ready. Yes, she wanted this.

The moment his hot breath fanned out across her center, she felt her stomach tighten with need. His tongue ran along her folds she threw her head back and cried his name, her back arching at the sudden and intense pleasure. Her hands found purchase in his hair, holding him in place and spurring him on as he deftly flicked his tongue over her, lapping at her increasing wetness.

Why had she been so reluctant to allow this? For while he insistently licked and kissed, she was safe, she was home, she was _his…_ Over and over she whispered his name like a mantra… _Daryl…Daryl….Daryl…_ until her body jolted with almost painful pleasure, and she bucked hard against his face, quivering as she crested the wave.

Breathless and boneless, she pushed him away slightly so that he would stop, then fell back against the bed while he climbed over her and held himself in position, waiting for her consent.

"You'll have to give me a minute," she breathed, and for the second time in twenty-four hours she felt overcome by the desire to laugh.

"You ok?" he asked her.

"More than ok," she smiled, and he pressed a deep kiss to her lips, running his tongue against hers. She could taste herself on him, and her need for him, to finally feel him inside of her, became almost overwhelming. "I want you," she choked. "I want you so much."

He moved back into position over her, but she shook her head very slightly and pushed him off of her, and on to his back. During the majority of her sexual experiences, she had been mostly passive, but she refused to be that way this time. With Daryl, she finally felt confident, wanted, and comfortable enough to be a willing and active participant, and she quickly straddled him, pinning his wrists above his head.

The look on his face was equal measure adoration and disbelief as, with one hand on his chest, the furious tattoo of his elevated heart beat beneath her palm, she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his erection before lowering herself onto him.

They simultaneously let out a low groan as she filled him, and she stayed perfectly still for a few seconds while she acclimatised herself to the feeling of his girth and length. After a brief pause, she began to rock her hips over him, grinding her already swollen clit against his pelvic bone.

She set a steady rhythm, while he gripped hard at her hips, thrusting upwards in time to every movement. She locked eyes with him, the piercing blue only just visible outlining his dilated pupils. He sat up suddenly, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, and she wrapped her arms about his shoulders to hold him in place as he did so.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he gasped, falling back against the bed, his hands falling to her ass, squeezing and massaging in time to each desperate thrust.

"You too," she purred as she raked her hands over his chest. The coil in her belly was tightening again, and she swivelled her hips to gain a better friction against her clit.

"Wait," he breathed suddenly, his grip on her ass tightening. "You gotta stop. I'm gonna—"

"It's ok," she soothed.

"I aint bringing a kid into this world."

"We won't," she assured him. "Trust me. Just let go."

She moved one of his hands to cup her breast, which he gently squeezed as she rocked her hips over him, increasing their speed. His head fell back against the pillow, and his breathing became shallower as he dropped his hand back to grip hold of her thighs. His jerked his hips upwards erratically several times with a low grunt, and then fell still. His tight grip on her thighs slackened as Carol ran her hands over his defined abs and pecs, delighting in the feeling of his pounding heart under her touch. She was so damn close to coming again, and she rolled her hips, desperate to find that delicious friction once more.

"Wait up," he mumbled, his face almost pained.

"Too much?" she asked.

He nodded shortly, and she ceased her movements, the tightened spring slowly unwinding, but she stayed in position on top of him, a relaxed half-smile on her face, as he slowly came back to earth.

"You ok, Pookie?"

"Mmm," he grunted. "I aint never felt like that before."

He pushed against her hips, and she felt strangely hollow without him filling her, but she lay down against his shoulder, while he draped an arm over her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "So it felt good for you too, I take it?" she cooed.

"Hell yeah," he said, squeezing her a little tighter. "Wanted to make you come again, though," he added, and Carol couldn't help but laugh a little at the wounded pride in his voice.

"I wouldn't worry," she said. "You made me happy. That's more than most men bother to do."

"Yeah, but… if I coulda done it again…"

"Someone's watched too much porn," she laughed.

"Shut up," he said, giving her playful shove. "Aint never had a computer. Dunno what you're talking about."

"Sure," she said. "And I'm sure your brother never had a stash of videos or dirty magazines, am I right?"

His refusal to look her in the eyes told her all she needed to know, and she laughed once more.

"I said shut up," he repeated, the blush across his cheeks darkening.

"Oh, Pookie. I'm laughing with you, not at you. And don't feel embarrassed, or inadequate, or anything. You made me feel more of a woman than anyone ever has."

He held her in silence for a few moments, his thumb drawing gentle circles on the curve of her waist. "You sure you aint gonna be pregnant?" he asked her.

She nodded as memories flooded in on her. The discovery of ovarian cancer when Sophia was six months old, and the subsequent hysterectomy had fueled Ed's anger towards her even further. What use was a woman who couldn't bear him a son?

"I'm sure," she said quietly.

He nodded gently but didn't press her for further explanation. "You want me to finish you off again?"

The moment had passed, but she didn't feel disappointed in any way. They had so many more moments ahead of them, after all… For now she was content to bask in the afterglow of their love. "I'm good," she said with a soft smile.

After pressing a delicate, lingering kiss to her forehead, he laid back against the pillow and didn't speak again; very soon his breathing slowed and deepened.

The past week had irrevocably changed their relationship, of that there could be no doubt at all. But for the first time since the world ended, she didn't feel like her existence was pointless or on borrowed time.

The full moon poured into her window. By the faint, silvery glow, Carol reached for the copy of _Jane Eyre._ With a slight smile, she turned to the end of the book, to chapter 38, and read the first sentence.

' _Reader, I married him.'_

It was a terrifying, brutal, and dark world that they inhabited. But maybe there was still some good in it, after all.


End file.
